


Dance With Your Hands Tied

by thiswesternfeeling



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Reader Insert, Unreliable Narrator, bisexual reader, chosen family, father figure dutch, kinda slow burn, there will be nsfw scenes but not right away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiswesternfeeling/pseuds/thiswesternfeeling
Summary: Caitlin O’Driscoll (reader) is eager to prove herself as a capable member of her father’s gang. So when Kieran Duffy goes missing, she’s the first to volunteer to try and find him. Along the way, she learns the truth about the O’Driscoll-Van der Linde rivalry, and is caught between doing what is right and staying loyal to those who mean the world to her.Also, she’s hiding her identity. No one but Kieran knows who she really is until she’s forced to come clean at the final confrontation.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i had a fic idea about Arthur getting involved with O'Driscoll's daughter, and decided to write it myself
> 
> specific TWs/CWs will be added to the notes of each applicable chapter.

“Oh no, has the little princess gotten her hands dirty?” a male voice teased at you. You roll your eyes, ignoring him as you shove your blade into the dorsal fin of a black bass.  
  
"Oi, the wee wench has got something to prove, doesn't she?" he taunted, clearly trying to get a rise out of you. You crinkle your nose and glare at him. He's one of dad's gang, a new one probably. You tended not to bother learning their names. The turnover rate was so high, you might as well. With that, you turned your attention back to the fish. You gutted its entrails and filleted its meat without a flinch. Although cleaning a fish grossed you out, you weren’t about to let the boys know. You were capable, and god damn it you were going to prove it. In a band of outlaws, you had to earn every scrap of respect you were going to get. Especially so, being a woman.  
  
The cold wind nipped at your fingers as you worked on the meat, unseasonably cold for early May. You blocked out all sounds as you focused only on the task at hand, so much so that you almost didn’t notice the camp’s head cook calling you inside.  
  
“Caity dear,” the middle aged woman said, “Why don’t you come inside, it’s awfully cold.”  
  
You glance behind you. “I know, I’ll just finish this last fish.”  
  
She seemed unamused. “That wasn’t a suggestion, dear. Your father wants to speak to you.”  
  
Your voice sank. This couldn’t be good. Whenever dad wanted to speak to you on short notice, it was because you fucked something up. You tried to recall all of the things you'd done recently that your dad might have found questionable. Breathing in, trying to steady your anxious stride, you went inside your father’s cabin, awaiting what he could want.  
  
The wooden door creaked open and a gust of wind came with you. “Dad?” you ask.  
  
“Cait, there you are. I had something I wanted to ask you. It’s important." He stood up and began pacing the quarters. "You know how you’ve been trying to show everyone you’re cut out for this life, and all that?" He didn't wait for you to respond. "Well kid, now's your chance. Duffy’s gone missing, we think the Van Der Lindes have him.”  
  
You exhale in relief. A real mission, a real opportunity to show everyone who doubted you that they’re wrong. You didn’t care much for Duffy, but he had a weak constitution about him. He would give the camp’s location away real quick.  
  
Your father continued, “If you could head out first thing tomorrow morning, that would be best.”  
  
You smirk. “Not even. I’ll leave tonight.”  
  
You were eager not only to get your own work, but to get out of this camp, at least for a while. Colm grinned as you left the cabin. You stride down the stairs, to your tent to gather your belongings, and finally onto your horse. She was a Frisian mare you named Mata Hari. Her pitch black coat glistened in the light, and her long, shiny black mane could inspire the envy of human women. You were gonna make your dad proud tonight, and you were eager to begin your quest.

* * *

  
"Easy, girl," you whispered to Mata Hari as her trotting slowed. You pulled out your map as you dismounted the horse and took her on lead, looking for the last place Kieran was seen. Footprints and hoof prints in the snow meant something must have gone down here. Mata Hari whinnied as you led her forward, refusing to step closer to what appeared to be a dead horse in the snow. Its dapple-gray coat reminded you of the horse that went missing along with Kieran. You knelt down to inspect it.

"That's Thor all right," you whispered. This must have been the place he was captured, especially considering the blood-tinged depressions in the snow that led into a single set of hoof tracks. You mounted Mata Hari again, gently whipping the reins as she restored her trot. The sun was now fully set, and hoof prints would prove hard to track in the dark. Making a mark on your map, you headed into the little town of Valentine to stay for the night.  
  
The cool air turned cold right as you and your horse made it to the town. Just as you were fixing to hitch your horse, the sound of glass shattering turned your attention to the tavern across the road. Some drunken old fool got himself thrown out a window in a bar fight. As he rose to his feet, Tommy came barreling out of the tavern. "You want a piece of this, pretty boy?"  
  
' _A massive fool to be picking a fight with Tommy_ ,' you thought, before you realized he was winning. He had Tommy underneath him in a matter of minutes, decking him in the face repeatedly, the two of them covered head to toe in mud. As soon as you heard someone plead for him to stop, did you decide you had enough of rubbernecking a bar fight. You stabled your horse and entered the quaint little hotel.  
  
"Hello, miss. What can I get you?" the desk clerk said, not acknowledging what was going on outside.  
  
"A room for the night, I'm just passing through town."  
  
"A name?"  
  
"Murphy. Caitlin Murphy."  
  
The man grinned. "And what's a fine young lady like yourself doing in a town like this, alone?"  
  
You scoffed. "Just passing through town." You had no time for flirtatious men unless you could rob them blind. And him? He didn't look like he had much for you to rob off him.

You hoisted your bag up the stairs and into your room, and from the safety of your window, watched how the bar fight concluded. The man who won the fight was cleaning himself up with a barrel of water, and underneath the mud, you understood why Tommy called him "pretty-boy". He was tall and well-built, and stood in a way that exuded confidence. Although you couldn't make out specific details of his face from the distance, you noticed his sharp features. As you turned out your lantern and lie down in bed, your last thought of him was,  _I wonder if I could con him if he's still in town tomorrow._


	2. They Have Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin finds Kieran, but not in the way she was expecting

The next morning you were off at sunrise. A cool breeze brushed your cheek as the morning sky turned a rosy pink color. Mounting your horse, you trotted out of the town and into the vast plains. You pull out your map, and steered your horse to the spot you found last night. The spring temperatures had melted much of the snow, and Mata Hari was quickly getting dirty from walking in the mud. You just hoped enough snow would be left to identify the tracks you saw last night.

You halted your horse as you arrived at the location, marked by the horse carcass and the blood-tinged bit of snow that was rapidly melting. Although the hoof prints had significantly melted with the muddy, brown-tinged snow, they were enough to track down a quiet road, up until they took an abrupt turn into a wooded area without any snow cover.

 _Well fuck,_ you thought, putting a hand to your forehead to shield your eyes from the rising sun. You looked closer, unwilling to give up and resign to having lost the tracks. _They must have taken a shortcut through the forest,_  you thought. _Or perhaps their camp is hidden in the forest_. Entertaining the idea in your mind, you dismounted your horse and dusted your hands off on your skirt. Holding your breath so as not to make any sound, you crouched down into the undergrowth. Before you could creep your way into the area, you heard a familiar scream.

"You sick bastards!"

"Kieran!" you whispered as you got back up and mounted your horse again. She whinnied, and you shushed her with an “easy there girl, it’s alright”. The last thing you wanted to do was be conspicuous. You couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but one sentence stood out:

”I’ll take you to them. I- I know where they are. I know where they’re hiding out. I’ll take you there. Just put those down.”

”Goddamnit Duffy,” you muttered, before whipping the reins on your horse and galloping back to camp.

* * *

 

As fast as your horse could take you, you rushed into camp, trampling over vegetation as twigs and herbs cracked under Mata Hari’s hooves  

“Who goes there?” a lookout shouted. 

“Caitlin!” you cried out, skidding your horse to a stop. “It’s just me.”

”You ain’t found Duffy yet?” he asked.

”No, I did, and that’s the problem,” you panted. “We need to get out of here. I’ll explain later, we don’t have much time.”

You leapt off your horse and bolted to the cabin your father was in, as fast as your legs could take you. You struggled to catch your breath as you swung the door open.

”Cait! Back already? Did you find him?” Colm asked, his face turning more somber as he realized the panicked state you were in.

“I found him. Dutch’s boys have him. They’re coming. We need to run, now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in later chapters i’m thinking of including one (1) dutch x reader scene but i’m unsure about it, if you want me to include it lmk


	3. High Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Colm and his henchmen narrowly escape an ambush by the Van Der Lindes, Caitlin stays behind to track down Kieran

The sincerity in your voice was all your father needed to be convinced you were speaking the truth.

"How far are they?" he asked, standing up from his desk and collecting valuables from the room, swiftly putting them in a satchel.

"Not far." you said, still trying to catch your breath. "I witnessed Duffy saying he'd lead them to us, and I came back as fast as I could. It's probably only a matter of minutes."

The color drained out of Colm's face as he cursed Kieran under his breath. "Well in that case, ready the coaches, gather the--" His sentence was interrupted by several gunshots and the sound of the gang firing back. You could only stare at one another for a long moment, before you said "Get on a horse and run as far as you can. We don't have time to alert the others."

Colm nodded, and whistled for his horse. "Send me a telegram in Valentine so I'll know you're safe."

You hugged him close before he mounted his horse. "Will do, daddy. Now run!"

You whistled for Mata Hari and mounted her as fast as you could, hoping the Van Der Lindes hadn't seen you. You rode off to the edge of the forest and into the river. You and Mata Hari leisurely trotted down the shallow banks of the river, in confidence that your scent could no longer be traced. The gunshots died down, and after a few long moments, you decided it was time to assess the damage. You rode back onto dry land and made your way back to the forest near camp. You dismounted your horse when you spied people moving around near your father's cabin. You crept low in the bushes, before another gunshot went off.

You looked up, and saw one of your father's bodyguards tumble onto the ground. You followed the smoke back to a gun held by none other than Kieran Duffy. A familiar sounding voice spoke up as someone grabbed Duffy by the collar of his shirt.

"You set us up!" he growled in his rough, gravely voice, throwing Duffy to the ground. "O'Driscoll ain't here! You set us up!" You recognized the voice as the man from the tavern fight the night before.

Kieran wriggled his way out of the Van Der Linde man's grasp. "I swear I didn't! He was here before you captured me! If- If I was setting you up I wouldn't have saved your life. Honest, I-"

"Arthur, he's right," another Van Der Linde man said. This seemed to persuade Arthur, and he pushed Kieran away. 

"Then go," he said. "Get lost."

"Go?" Kieran shouted. "Out there? Alone? That's as good as killing me. I wouldn't have saved you if I didn't hate O'Driscoll more than I hated you, no offense."

"None taken," another man said.

Kieran's hands shook. "I'm one of you now."

And in that moment, you suddenly regretted not treating Duffy much better. You mentally noted that you needed to recapture Duffy, and do something about him.

Arthur turned towards your position in the forest, causing you to duck under a rock. Before he could get far, Kieran spoke up again. "Did you get the cash in the chimney?"

"What?" Arthur said, turning around. You took the opportunity to run from your hiding spot back towards the river. You really didn't need them finding you. You mounted Mata Hari and waited a few meters outside the camp entrance, waiting to follow the Van Der Lindes back to wherever they were hiding.

* * *

"Play dead, girl, play dead," you whispered to your horse as she lay on top of you with her full weight. You would be lying if you said it didn't hurt to have her on you like that, but you could play a damsel in distress role well enough that your plan might just work.

You had followed the Van Der Lindes back to where you found them before, not daring to follow too close behind them, or to come too close to the forest that concealed their camp. You and Mata Hari lay on the side of the road, waiting hours for the moment to arrive. You overheard Arthur saying he was going hunting, and as you heard hooves exiting the forest, you took your cue.

"Help! Somebody! Please help!" you cried, pretending not to see Arthur until he was trotting over in your direction. "Please mister, help me!"

He slowed his horse to a stop. "Ma'am?"

You let tears stream down your face. "My horse, she's hurt, and I can't get her up off of me! Please!"

He crouched down and lifted your horse up by the flank, taking several tries to muster the strength to lift your half ton mare off your legs. "I got her, one second," he grunted. You thanked your lucky stars Mata Hari was as good an actress as you. 

"Oh, thank you!" you said, wrapping you arms around his shoulders. For a moment, you considered pickpocketing him. "I don't know what I'd have done without you."

He placed a hand upon your back as sparks soared over your body. "It's nothing, miss. You need a ride back home?" His generosity took you aback.

"Well, you see," you said, wringing your hands on your skirt, "I ain't got nowhere to go now. I can't go back home, there's a price on my head." You pulled your head back away from him, and finally got a good, long look at him. He sighed, "I know that feeling all too well. Mind telling me what happened?"

You held back a smile, still in character. He was believing you perfectly. "I- Bounty hunters came for my husband. Accused him of somethin' he didn't do. They were gonna kill him if I didn't step in, so I grabbed the pistol and shot the bastard right in the head. But my... my shot isn't too great, and I got my husband too. Neither of 'em made it. Now I'm wanted for murder of my husband and the bounty hunter. I swear, I ain't did nothing wrong, I was just trying to..." You broke down in tears as Arthur hugged you close. 

"I'm sure we can make room for you at the camp, at least for tonight. We found another poor woman in just as sorry a state. You got a name, ma'am?"

"Caitlin," you said, standing up and brushing the dirt off your dress. You tapped Mata Hari twice on her ear, a signal you trained her to mean "go back to camp". Taking Arthur's outstretched hand, you mounted the back of his horse, and held onto his waist as he commanded the horse back to camp.

You glanced behind you to see Mata Hari get up and head back where she came. That all went even better than expected.

 


	4. Tension

"You got a name, ma'am?"

"Caitlin."

"Caitlin what?" Arthur asked, his hand outstretched to help you onto his horse.

You paused for a second as you gained your balance on the horse. "Murphy. Caitlin Murphy."

"Okay. Missus Murphy," he said, hoisting the reins and starting his horse up at a trot. "You're real lucky I found you when I did. I might not be a good man, but there are worse men about."

"Really? Who?" you feigned curiosity.

He shook his head. When he finally spoke, it was soft and almost intimate. "Nevermind. Just know you're in good hands. What do you do for a living, ma'am?"

"Seamstress," you replied. It wasn't entirely a lie; it was just one of your many duties back home.

Only a few meters and you two were at the edge of the camp. The smell of pine was refreshing, and the shade a welcome change from the midday sun.

"Who goes there?" a voice shouted.

"Arthur," he responded.

"Back already?"

"Yeah," he gruffed, "Happened across someone that needed assistance. Hoping Dutch won't mind."

Dutch. A name you'd recognize anywhere. You knew you were in the right place. He slowed his horse to a stop and hitched her at a wooden post at the entrance of camp. Little grass grew on a beaten path he led his horse across, the earth a pale brown from the melting snow. He reached his hand out, and you took it as he helped you off the horse.

"Arthur?" another male voice said. 

"Oh, Dutch." Arthur said. "Found this poor thing under her horse on the road. She's wanted, accidentally killed a man trying to save her husband."

Dutch stared at you from his tall stature, one hand on a hip. "You look familiar," he said, pressing his lips together in tense thought. 

Your stomach turned. "What do you mean?" you said, averting your gaze to avoid eye contact.

"I mean, I think I've seen you before." Arthur stared curiously at Dutch for a while.

"Maybe you knew my husband," you said, lying through your teeth as you came up with a name on the spot. "Howard Murphy?"

Dutch seemed unsatisfied by your answer. "Name doesn't ring a bell. The name O'Driscoll ring any to you?"

Your palms were sweating, hands shaking. "I heard of him. He's an outlaw, ain't he? You know him?"

Dutch's eyes narrowed, intensely focused on you. "Unfortunately, I do. Maybe I can come to recognize you later. Got any skills you can bring to the table?"

"I'm a seamstress--"

"No, not that kind," he hissed. "You know how to shoot a gun?"

"Yeah."

"Ever hunted or fished?"

"For nearly every meal."

"Trained in medicine?"

"No, but I'm a fast learner."

His lips tightened again, glancing at Arthur, then back at you. "Fine, Arthur, you can keep her around for a little bit. But no more, okay? We got enough mouths to feed as it is." He turned around to walk back to his tent, but paused before turning back to you. "And the first sign of any funny business and she's out of here. There are lawmen and O'Driscolls about, we can't just be taking in anyone and everyone."

You exhaled in a deep sigh of relief. Arthur put an arm around your shoulder, startling you slightly. "Don't mind him," he said, "He's just trying to protect us. He's suspicious of everybody when they first come in."

Barely listening, you scanned all corners of the camp for your target.  _All this trouble had better be worth it,_ you thought.  _Boy am I gonna come back with some stories to tell daddy._


	5. Annabelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin gets more than she bargained for when she asks Arthur about the origin of Dutch and Colm's rivalry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for emetophobia and implied/offstage violence

The sun was setting on your second full day at the camp. Although Dutch and the others were still apprehensive of you, you were determined to show them you weren't a threat. Their trust would be difficult to gain, especially since they'd let Kieran roam freely around camp.

Tonight was a celebration, as Arthur, Charles and Javier had successfully come back to camp with their missing brother in arms. You and Sean had never been properly introduced, so you mostly kept to yourself that night. With the exception of encountering a slightly intoxicated Kieran.

 

You were tall for a woman, often eye-to-eye with men. You knew how to use your height to your advantage in intimidation games, even with someone like Kieran, who had almost an entire head on you. He was an elephant and you were a mouse, as far as you were concerned.

The boy wasn't as dumb as he looked, and he knew why you were here. However he was just dumb enough to bring it up to you.

Kieran bit his lip and raised his gaze. "No use coming back for me. I'm one of them now."

"Feeling bold, aren't you, O'Driscoll boy?" You cocked your head, staring him straight in the eyes. 

He flashed his teeth for a moment before stepping forward, gazing down at you from his taller stature. "Real strong words coming from you, Missus Caitlin Murphy." He glanced to either side before dropping his voice to a whisper. "One wrong move and they'll know all about you. Why you're here. Who you really are."

You stood on your toes, meeting his height eye-to-eye, your voice dripping with venom. "As if they'd believe a single word out of you," you exhaled, unphased as ever. Taken aback, Kieran drew breath, before he was interrupted by someone who must have caught wind of your encounter. 

"Leave her be, Duffy." Arthur said, wedging himself between the two of you, pulling Kieran away. "Don't need you causing any trouble."

He turned to you as he shooed Kieran away. "You alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine, don't worry."

Arthur crossed his arms, gazing into the horizon behind you. "Never seen him act like that. You two got a history or something?"

You stared back at Arthur without a word as he let out a nervous laugh. "Shit, I was joking, I didn't mean..."

Your expression immediately softened. "No, no, that's not it," you reassured, "He just thinks I'm a threat."

"He has good reason," Arthur said, smiling. "Kid doesn't ever know when to keep his mouth shut. Don't know how he got in with the O'Driscolls."

After a pause, you spoke up again. "If you don't mind me asking," you said, looking down at your feet, "What is it with Dutch and O'Driscoll?" 

Arthur sat down at the table and beckoned you to join him. "It's not really my story to tell, but I'll give you the long and short of it. It's..." He collected his breath. "Dutch and Colm used to work together some time back. I don't know exactly what happened. Dutch killed Colm's no-good brother after he ratted them out to the law. And as revenge, Colm murdered Annabelle."

Your heart skipped a beat. Could he mean  _that_ Annabelle?

Arthur sighed, as if he were holding back tears. "Savagery. Absolute savagery. Poor woman probably had no clue what they were doin' with her. Colm never liked his brother much, but Dutch sure liked Annabelle. Didn't make it any better how they did it."

You sat there, absorbing his words slowly. He most certainly meant  _that_ Annabelle. Memories you hadn't recalled in years flooded back to you. You could remember what her voice sounded like. You were fourteen years old, hearing shrieks for help come from behind the barn, and you didn't help her. You could have helped her, but you ignored her pleas, angry that your father wouldn't let you in on the fun. Your father told you she was an enemy of the gang, and you believed him. That night's memory seared in your heart with a newfound passion. Annabelle wasn't who your father said she was. She was innocent, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You could have helped her. You could have helped her. You could have--

You didn't want to think, didn't want to feel, your head was spinning. "I need to," you said, getting up and stumbling toward your tent. You didn't make it, falling over only a few meters from where you were sitting before. Your hands shook, your eyes watered, your stomach turned as all of the raw guilt took you over. You heaved a moment, expelling all of your stomach contents as Arthur sat you up, a hand on your back.

"There, there, you're alright," he said as you heaved more. Your stomach was more than empty now, but you couldn't seem to rid yourself of the sick feeling. Your hands tingled as your fingers curled together, unable to be uncurled. Before you even had time to react, the other members of camp had taken notice, and a blonde woman a bit older than you was urging you to sip something. 

"Health tonic," Sadie said. "Had too much to drink, did ya?"

"No, it's..." you began before heaving again. Just thinking about it made you sick to your core. You couldn't process it all at once. You had to be able to think about it before you could say it, and you were a long way from being able to think about it.

As you cradled your head between your knees, you overheard Arthur talking to some others. 

"She couldn't even keep the tonic down," Sadie said, "I don't think it was the liquor making her sick."

"Unusual," a man with a German accent said in an oddly matter-of-fact way, "Perhaps it's psychological. What was she doing a moment ago, Herr Morgan?"

"We were just talking," Arthur responded. "She asked about what happened with Dutch and Colm, I barely said anything before she--"

Arthur was interrupted by Dutch. "You said what?" he asked, a notch of passion in his voice. It wasn't anger, you couldn't place exactly what it was. You wondered how long he had been there.

"She asked and I said the truth! I ain't even go into detail."

"Hmm." Dutch grumbled, "You sure you didn't say exactly how it happened? Cause that's a strong reaction for someone who wasn't told explicitly what happened." A pause, and Dutch continued his thought, musing to himself more than anyone else. "Seems like she knows about this. And judging by how she's handling it, she didn't know how much she knew. I think I know why she looks so familiar."

Before you knew it, he was right behind you, an arm around your shoulder. "Missus Murphy, when you're feeling better, I'd like a word with you in my tent, privately."

The sound of his voice had you heaving again.


	6. Headed South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadie and Caitlin grow closer during their time at camp, and Dutch comes up with a plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for having gone so long without writing anything! I had kind of written myself into a corner and wasn't sure how to progress with the story so I decided to just jump ahead in time a bit. Maybe another chapter will be squeezed in between 5 and 6 eventually, but for now, here's some sweet Father Figure Dutch and a bit of Sadie/Reader if you squint.

You and Sadie began bonding after the night of Sean's party, when she helped you to your cot and stayed by your side. She was there through your nightmares and panic attacks, holding you close as your breathing slowed and her warmth radiated onto you. Soon enough, you moved your cot into her tent. She would occasionally ask if you wanted to talk, and always, you would refuse. You couldn't tell her you ran with the O'Driscolls, or at least, used to run with them. After a few nights of sleeping on it, you had made your decision: you weren't going back. Dutch would come into yours and Sadie's tent on occasion, asking you things. You knew now he must have known. There's no way he can't know by now.

"Mrs Murphy, Mrs Adler, may I?" Dutch asked, gesturing inside your tent.

"Sure," you responded. Sadie was off doing chores for Pearson, so it was an ideal time for him to come in. All the fewer questions she would ask.

He strode into the tent, taking a seat next to you on your cot. "So," he began, "Your father,"

You interrupted him, your face contorting with anger. "The piece of shit woman killer?"

He sighed. "That is the one. He," Dutch reached a hand into his pocket, "You realize now, why our rivalry runs so deep?"

You glanced down at your feet, before turning back to Dutch. "A fraction of it. It's just so hard to process. Hard to wrap my mind around. But after learning about this," you pause, trying to gather the right words. "It's like everything else about him makes sense now."

Dutch raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I didn't see it before. How he treats his men, my brothers, even my mother, as pawns more than people. And I realized I was no exception. I loved my dad, I killed for him, I would've died for him. But I'm putting the pieces together, and I realized that he doesn't love me like a father should love his daughter. He loves me like he loves his best horse. He," You couldn't finish your sentence, tears welling up in your eyes.

In an unexpected show of kindness, Dutch wrapped his arm around you and rested your head on his shoulder. "It is alright, Caitlin," he said, patting your back.

"Why did you even take me in?" you asked, between muffled sobs. "You knew who I was. You shouldn't have let Arthur bring me in."

He was silent a moment, hugging you even tighter. "The way you reacted to Arthur's retelling of events, it..." He paused as you picked your head up, looking at him. "It was clear to me Colm was using you. I saw someone who needed saving, and we--"

In unison, you both said "shoot fellers as need shooting, save them as need saving, and feed them as need feeding."

He smiled brightly. "See, you're learning. Now I have to ask, Miss Murphy," he said, chuckling at still calling you by your pseudonym, "Tell me all you know."

"Well," you said, "Last I was there we were holed up at a place north of Valentine, called Six Point Cabin."

"We ambushed them there before you came along, Colm wasn't there."

"I know," you said, "I got him out of there just in time. He fled south, exactly where I don't know. But south of here."

"Reckon he's still there?"

"Probably. I sent a telegram in Valentine the other day, when Arthur took Uncle and us girls to town, telling him I was safe."

Dutch's face lost color. "Fuck. You did what?" He stood up. "God damn it, if you sent it from Valentine that means he knows we're around here. He,"

You stopped him, standing up and grabbing his shoulder. "He knew already," you defended, "And besides, he doesn't know I'm with you. For all he knows I could be running with the Lemoyne raiders."

Dutch tilted his head. "He knew? He knew already where we were? Fuck, I should have known he'd be a step ahead. Good thing Arthur and Charles are out scouting ahead near Rhodes. You said he fled south, think he could be there?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was. Want me to lure him to you?"

"Not yet," Dutch said, "I have to figure out a plan first. But believe me, Mrs Murphy, you are playing a most important role now that you're one of us." He turned to exit the tent, "And don't go telling everyone who your real daddy is just yet. Keep that a secret, for now at least. It's on a need-to-know basis, you got it?"

You smiled. "Got it, Dutch."


	7. 1888

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven years ago, Caitlin O'Driscoll witnessed her father murder a woman in cold blood. "A spy for the Van Der Lindes", he said she was. "A traitor, a rat, and you know what we do with rats." This is what Caitlin saw, unaware of the harrowing truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for gore, angst, and chapter 4 spoilers

The sun had long set at the homestead you were staying at with your father and the gang. You were in bed, much to your dismay. There was going to be an execution tonight, one you didn't want to miss. Your father, always one step ahead of you, forbade you from leaving your bedroom until dawn, and told some of his men to guard your door. You sat upright against the wall, a few feet from the door. You tried to read to pass the time, but this silly romance novel you'd been picking over was even more boring amidst the chaos occurring elsewhere in the home. The men outside your door were clear in their presence, with their shuffling feet and occasional cough, but for all anyone knew, you were asleep. But sleep was not coming.

"Can't believe we've got guard duty on the little brat and are missin' out on the show," one of them lamented, in a heavy Irish accent.

"You wantin' to bail?" another said. 

"Not a chance, Collum'd have our heads bashed in if we let _his li'l princess_ outta our sight."

"Lay offa her, she's just a kid," a third one weighed in, "You'd do the same thing if this was your kid."

"Shut it, Declan." A grunt came from the one called Declan, and that was the end of the chat.

A light flickered outside your window, and you got up to look. A horse whinnied in the distance. The book dropped to the floor as you opened the heavy glass window, kneeling in front of it. Your breath was silent. It was him, Dutch. 

"Colm, I know you're out here. This ends now." he commanded, his voice raw with anger. "Mister Matthews, Mister Callander, search that shed. Mister Williamson, Mister O'Connor, search the house. The rest of you, follow me to the--"

His words were cut short as the barn door swung open and Colm made his presence known. "Hello Mister Van Der Linde, you're just in time for the show."

Dutch was silent a second as his men gathered around him. "You have Annabelle. I know you have Annabelle. And I know we have you outnumbered. This is your chance," he said, his voice crackling, "to give her back to me, and this will all be over."

Colm guffawed. "Give her back?" He looked at Dutch as if this all was going exactly how he wanted. "You heard him boys!" he shouted, "Bring her out here!"

Two men came out of the barn, carrying a hogtied and gagged body by her shoulders and legs. The only indication that she was alive was that her chest rose and fell slightly in her panicked breathing. They tossed her to the ground, with a thud and a moan. Her face was bleeding and her body was bruised, but none of her injuries appeared fatal. She twisted her body at the waist, but offered no resistance.

"Annabelle!" Dutch cried out, trying to run to her before Colm's men pointed his guns at him. He stood, his hands in the air. "Annabelle, we're gonna rescue you, we're gonna get you out of here."

Colm laughed, leaning down towards Annabelle but maintaining eye contact with Dutch. "How sweet. He still loves you now that you aren't so pretty anymore. I reckon those are gonna leave a mark."

"Let my friend go, or people, they are gonna be shot unnecessarily. No one has to get hurt tonight, Colm. Give her to me, and we leave here without firing a single shot."

"This is it, Dutch. You've tried my patience too many times." He stood up, positioning Annabelle's head on an anvil, his heel pressed to her shoulders. "I'm not playing by your games anymore. No more bargaining, no more deals."

Dutch's chest heaved as some of his men pulled their guns. Dutch himself kept his arms raised and voice calm. "We are outlaws, we are Americans. We can always cut a deal, Colm."

Colm only smiled as one of his men came to his side, wielding an axe. Without a moment's hesitation, his axe hit her neck as Colm stepped back, letting her head roll forward and her body go limp under his foot. "There's your deal, Dutch."

Dutch could only stare, wide-eyed and frozen, as his men immediately opened fire. You couldn't hear any dialogue exchanged over the sound of gunfire, startling the men at watch duty. 

"Ye hear that?" one of them said.

"Of course I heard it, you stupid bastard, I ain't bloody deaf."

"Should we help?"

"Nah, if we was any good at shootin', we'd be out there in the first place. One of Collum's meat shields. He's probably back inside by now, makin' them do all the dirty work."

And he was correct. As the gunfire slowed, your father was long gone, and the only concern of Dutch's gang was to take Annabelle's body.

"He killed her, Hosea. He," Dutch stopped abruptly as one of his men held him close. "You were right, Hosea, he was bad news from the start. Never should have ran with him." 

"No use thinking about it now," Hosea said, his hands on Dutch's shoulders. "Mister Williamson," Hosea continued, "take her body to Swanson and have her buried someplace."

"I'm--" Dutch choked as the tears finally began to fall, "I'm gonna fucking kill that bastard if it's the last thing I do." He leaned into Hosea, no longer holding back his sobs. 

"There will be time for that. For now, we must get back to camp. If we stick around too long, we risk losing our heads too." Hosea yelped as Dutch's palm slapped his cheek. 

His voice still heavy with tears, he pushed himself out of Hosea's embrace. "Too fucking soon."

Dutch mounted his horse and dashed away into the plains. Others began to follow suit, one or two at a time, riding until they got smaller and smaller until they disappeared in the rays of the first morning light. You stayed there, watching each one of them until they could no longer be seen, listening until the clattering of horse hooves could no longer be heard, and the last traces of Dutch and his men were gone from the area.


End file.
